


Closed In

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Little Brother Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Season/Series 01, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: "Sam had no idea whether he was upright or laying down. It was too dark, too tight to tell. All he remembered was the argument, of Dean trying to play dad."Sam attempts a hunt on his own with dire results.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	Closed In

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from LiveJournal November 2008.

He didn't even know where he was. It was cold, but that could mean anything. It was closed off on all sides, dark and unrelenting. He kicked again at the wall facing his face, then after a moment, kicked towards the one near his feet, too.  
  
Sam had no idea whether he was upright or laying down. It was too dark, too tight to tell.  
  
All he remembered was the argument. Of Dean trying to play dad, rationalizing it because Sam had been out of hunting for so long. His skills were 'rusty'. He wasn't as capable as he could be; Dean would lead, and that was that.  
  
The argument hadn't lasted long, mainly because Sam had been surprised at Dean's insistence and his brother's sudden turn from partner to leader. It had gotten heated fast enough before it had ended, and it had only really ended when Dean had stomped out of the room, claiming he needed space.  
  
Sam could relate, right now. Any space would be nice. He tried to move his arms again, and when panic flared up inside him when he couldn't, he remembered why he'd told himself not to do it. He closed his eyes and breathed in, long and hard, and pictured himself simply lying in a bed somewhere. If he focused hard enough, he could imagine that this was all it was.  
  
But the weight of the walls was still there, his arms were still pressed in to his sides, and he still had no real idea where he was.  
  
Maybe the house, where the thing they were tracking was. Sam hadn't gotten to the house. Sam had only made it to the surrounding forest when the world had gone black. All the weapons had been in the bag slung over his shoulder. Dean would be pissed if they couldn't find it.  
  
Dean was going to be pissed, period.  
  
The newfound respect of Sam being a mature adult was going to completely disappear after this. Sam had thought it was already dwindling, what with Dean trying to pull rank and claim leadership instead of partnership. Now, though? Now Dean wouldn't even think to ask him about what to do. Dean would simply expect him to follow and listen. Just like Dad had.  
  
Sam swallowed hard for a completely different reason besides the enclosed space. It'd been hard enough to have those long arguments with their dad, of trying to stand strong for himself even as his dad undermined him, tried to tear him down. He wasn't sure he could survive it from Dean, too.  
  
Even if, at this particular moment, the ripping into Sam argument was probably deserved. He'd been the one who'd decided to show his hunting mettle, show that he was capable enough, by handling the creature they were hunting on his own. He'd been the one who'd left no note, only taking the bag of weapons and storming out towards the west side of town.  
  
But Sam didn't remember them ever hearing about the victims being found buried away somewhere. Or shoved into walls. The feeling of hanging or laying down, the uncertainty of which one it was, was making his stomach roll.  
  
God but he wanted out. He wanted Dean. He wanted to apologize, wanted to say he was sorry and he was stupid. Hell, he'd even deal with Dean ordering him to leave, since he was so incompetent, if-  
  
Another roll of his stomach, and Sam shut his eyes and tried breathing again. Okay, maybe not that far. But he just wanted Dean, wanted his big brother to find him and rescue him.  
  
His stomach tightened, and Sam forced himself to focus on breathing, taking himself out of the situation. If he was laying down, the last thing he needed, in these cramped quarters, was to be sick. In, out. In, out. He'd gotten himself in, Dean would get him out. Dean would get him out. Dean would find him and get him out.  
  
What if Dean was around, but just couldn't hear him? His eyes snapped open (not that anything really changed, considering how dark it was, but he was still in charge, not the enclosed space) and he began furiously kicking everything. The wall in front of him, the wall behind him, the wall beneath him. “Dean!” he shouted. More kicking followed. “ _Dean_!”  
  
He pounded and kicked and yelled for almost five minutes, then sank back against...he couldn't even tell. Wherever he was, he was boarded up tight. Or bricked up tight: he had no idea which one he was sealed in by. The sensory of touch was yielding nothing, his sight was completely gone, and movement was impaired.  
  
Sam shut his eyes, panic rising with each sharp breath. God, how long until _that_ stopped, too? The air? He'd forgotten about the air. Enclosed, tight space, no cracks, and his chest was feeling tight for reasons besides panic. Or maybe it was panic.  
  
He didn't know what anything was, anymore. The walls, the air, the place, the horizontal or vertical...  
  
He started kicking again, more furiously now. Frantic kicks as the air was stolen from his lungs, and his eyes darted everywhere, trying to find a scrap of light to catch onto. His arms struggled from their pinned position, and his fingers dug into whatever surface he was surrounded by. He realized suddenly that his fingertips couldn't feel anything, and he clawed all the more desperately, kicked even harder and faster, and he couldn't be in there anymore, someone let him out _please_ let him out Dean _hurry_ -  
  
His foot went further than it had before, and Sam paused for only a second, then began thrashing around even harder, now that he knew it was getting him somewhere. More was giving underneath his feet, big chunks of whatever it was, and he almost sobbed out of relief. He could see something faintly beyond his feet, if he looked, though it was still dark as well. Not _as_ dark as where he was, though. And that was all Sam needed.  
  
Suddenly something caught his ankle and pulled, and the shock of it on top of everything else pulled a scream from Sam's lips. There was a noise, off in the distance, and he was being pulled further out by something strong and demanding. The creature. Sam scrambled to find a purchase, to try and stop the pulling, and when he couldn't, began kicking with everything he had.  
  
Then he was out, his arms were no longer pinned, and Sam twisted and began clawing at the ground to get away. The hands around his ankles were now moving up, catching his side, his arms, pulling him up and against something just as hard, but-  
  
The scent. Leather. Gunpowder. Shampoo from the hotel. Hint of peanuts and whiskey.  
  
 _Dean_.  
  
The noise finally managed to filter through the panic pulsing through his veins. “...got you, it's me, you're okay, you're okay, I got you Sammy, it's all right, I got you, shhh, it's okay...”  
  
A firm hand gently held Sam's head to Dean's chest, while the other was wrapped tightly in the folds of Sam's jacket, the arm a reassuring pressure against him. Closed in, just as he had been before, but this wasn't restrictive.  
  
This was safety.  
  
He slumped against Dean, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his brother's shirt. “M'sorry,” he managed to get out, his voice sore and hoarse after his shouting. “Dean-”  
  
“Not your fault,” Dean said immediately. “We didn't know the thing was burying its victims.”  
  
Sam glanced away slightly, back to where he'd been. A small hole near the floor was the only thing he could see, the boards broken and all but ripped away. Laying down, then. Good thing he hadn't gotten sick.  
  
The thought was enough to make him turn away with a shudder, and Dean's arm tightened around him reflexively. “Not that. I...I still went alone,” Sam whispered, having to swallow against the catch in his throat.  
  
There was a snort from Dean above him. “Yeah, because I all but told you to. That's on me, Sammy, not you. I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm sorry, kiddo.”  
  
“S'not your fault. Shouldn't have-” The cough came unbidden, and once it started, Sam had a hard time stopping.  
  
Once the coughing fit subsided, Sam gasped for air until he felt stable enough to breathe again. “Then it's not your fault, either. Breathe, Sammy. Just breathe.”  
  
Sam breathed. It was easy, with Dean's arm still supporting him. When his own fingers started to hurt, he reluctantly released a little of Dean's shirt. When the pain continued increasing, he hissed and tried to shake them out. Pins and needles, he realized a moment later. That was why he hadn't been able to feel anything.  
  
Dean removed his hands and wrapped Sam's in his own, massaging gently to restore feeling. Sam leaned his head against his brother's shoulder, watching him through suddenly tired eyes. “Creature?” he whispered.  
  
“Couldn't find it. When I found the bag of weapons outside, finding you sort of became the priority.” He paused a moment, and when Sam glanced up, he could see the determination, the surety on his brother's face. “We'll come back tomorrow, you and me, and waste it.”  
  
“Sure you still want me hunting, trailing after you?” Sam asked quietly. Honestly, if his brother said no, Sam wasn't going to be all that surprised. Hurt, maybe, but not surprised.  
  
“I don't want you trailing behind me,” Dean said, and his arm was back around Sam. “I've kinda gotten used to you hunting beside me.”  
  
His fingers felt warm again, and when he cautiously rubbed the tips against his palm, he could feel the dirt on his skin. The air was flowing evenly from his lungs, and when he shifted slightly, he could. Dean's gaze was gentle, something no one else got except Sam, and Sam watched as an equally soft smile graced his brother's face. “You ready to get out of here?” Dean asked.  
  
“More than,” Sam agreed. Hands pulled again, just as strong as before, and helped him to his feet. The hand at his back stayed there, guiding him up out of the cellar and back into the woods surrounding the house.  
  
Everything was back to the way it was supposed to be, and Sam walked back out of the forest with his brother beside him.


End file.
